


Kiss of Life

by Anteros



Category: Hornblower (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-02
Updated: 2011-04-03
Packaged: 2017-10-25 14:40:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/271408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anteros/pseuds/Anteros
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Believe it or not this is a sequel to <a href="http://anteros-lmc.livejournal.com/8699.html"><i>Friend or Foe</i></a>, which I wrote in January 2010.  I've been carrying the bare bones of this story around in my head ever since.  It didn't turn out quite as I expected though :}</p><p>Set around the time of <i>The Duel / The Even Chance</i>.</p>
    </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Believe it or not this is a sequel to [_Friend or Foe_](http://anteros-lmc.livejournal.com/8699.html), which I wrote in January 2010. I've been carrying the bare bones of this story around in my head ever since. It didn't turn out quite as I expected though :}
> 
> Set around the time of _The Duel / The Even Chance_.

* * *

  
**~I~**

Archie Kennedy was beside himself. Horatio Hornblower, upright respectable Mr Midshipman Horatio Hornblower, had offered him, Archie Kennedy, both his honour and his virtue and he had not had a single opportunity to avail himself of this incalculable gift.

Hornblower no loner bolted like a startled colt whenever Kennedy hove into view, however he was still awkward and skittish in the other boy’s presence. Kennedy had the good sense to give his shipmate a wide berth while praying fervently for a period of shore leave that would allow him to put Hornblower’s bold offer to the test.

The _Indefatigable_ was moored in Portsmouth but with orders expected to put to sea any day, shore leave had not been forthcoming. Though in all honesty, even if an opportunity had arisen, Archie doubted he had the courage. He had sported the reward for his first ill judged attempt on Hornblower's honour on his cheek for a good fortnight. The other mids had ribbed him mercilessly and done everything in their power to winkle the name of his mysterious assailant from him. "Been in the wars again Kennedy?" Cleveland had smirked on a daily basis. Hornblower had kept his head down whenever conversation turned to speculation over who had hit Kennedy sufficiently hard to leave a livid bruise across his cheek and earn him a dressing down from the fearsome Captain Pellew. Archie could almost feel the shame and rage radiating off Hornblower as he purposefully ignored the jibes and bent his attention to his slate and books.

"Tried to steal a kiss from the quartermaster’s wife did you?" Cadogan inquired less than innocently. The quartermaster’s wife was a large and formidable woman with a vocabulary that would make a sheet anchor man blush. Rumour had it that they carried her as ballast or as a last line of defence against the French should their broadside fail.

"Tried to kiss the captain's arse more like," Hether sneered predictably. Kennedy shrugged off the speculation and maintained a dignified silence.

"Maybe he tried to kiss Hornblower." Cleveland chipped in slyly. That was too close to the mark. Hornblower's head snapped up from his books, his cheeks scarlet. He opened his mouth to refute the scandalous allegation but Kennedy silenced him with a swift kick under the table and a glance that quite clearly said: "Keep your mouth shut".

"Sorry to disappoint you," Kennedy rose and casually sauntered over to the bench were Cleveland was smoking. "I tripped and kissed the deck. Which is exactly what you'll be doing if you don’t mind your own damn business.”

With a deft flick of his foot Kennedy tipped the bench over and sent Cleveland sprawling on the deck much to the entertainment of the other midshipmen. Kennedy bowed elaborately and made a swift exit.

“Always were careless, weren't you boy?" Cleveland yelled after him.

Archie's blood ran cold but he didn't turn round, didn't stop walking until he'd gained the deck and made his way for’ard to the bows. He clutched the rail and concentrated on taking one breath after another, forcing down the bile rising in his throat. Cleveland knew of course, Hether too. Many of the boys on _Justinian_ had been careless and clumsy. Barely a week passed without someone tripping over a cable or missing their footing on a companion. It was a regular occurrence, and Archie had been more careless that most. Jack Simpson had seen to that. Archie gripped the rail and stared unseeing across the harbour. It was true, he had been careless, he had been long past caring then.

Archie took a long deep breath and set his jaw. That was before, that was _Justinian_ , before the war, before the Indy, before Hornblower's mad duel. Before Hornblower. Archie sighed and rubbed the faded bruise on his cheek, the cold was making it ache.

He didn't hear Hornblower approaching until he was right beside him, standing a respectable distance away, hands clasped behind his back.

“I'm sorry Archie. It's all my fault.” His voice was low and thick. “I should say something, it's the honourable thing to do. I could say that I hit you by accident when... when...ummm..."

Hornblower presented such a picture of mortification that Archie couldn't help but laugh. He couldn't see Hornblower’s hands but he had watched them in fascination often enough to know that right now they would be twining themselves in knots behind his back.

"When? When what? When I mistook you for the quartermaster’s wife? You'd have to spin a better yarn than that to silence those fools. Sorry Horatio you’re not the most convincing liar.”

Hornblower looked even more crestfallen.

“Don't worry,” Archie hitched what he hoped was a convincing smile into place. “Let’s just forget it. Sticks and stones and all that. Your right hook is another matter entirely...”

“Archie….” The corner of Hornblower’s mouth twitched into a smile and something in Archie’s chest fluttered.

Archie had been tormented by the memory of the single kiss he had rashly stolen from Hornblower in the sail locker. His reward had been double watch, a bruised countenance and the ridicule of his messmates. But the real retribution for his transgression was dreams threaded through with the smooth warmth of velvet cheek, the fleeting press of soft lips, the heart stopping moment of capitulation before knuckle struck bone and brought him back to reality with a sickening blow. In that second when Hornblower’s fist collided with his face Archie knew he had burnt his boats. In a moment of weakness and folly he had sullied the one good thing that graced his pitiful existence. Jack Simpson had been right. He always swore boys like him were destined for the yardarm or the scaffold. Archie had expected dishonourable dismissal at the very least, a court martial possibly, or even a duel. Certainly Hornblower had every right to call him out. The last thing Archie had expected was for Hornlower to apologise and to offer him his honour by way of recompense. And here he was apologising again. Standing right beside him tall and straight, dignity and honour intact and with a smile that made Archie’s head spin.

“Talking of your formidable right hook, how’s your hand? No permanent damage done I hope?”

Hornblower frowned darkly and stretched his right hand out towards Archie, long fingers spread wide. “I do believe I have effected a complete recovery Mr Kennedy. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Archie swallowed hard and ran his thumb over the ridge of Hornblower’s knuckles, the palm beneath his fingers was rough and warm. “Good as new I’d say Mr Hornblower.”

Hornblower replied with the faintest smile that lit a bright spark in the brown depths of his eyes.

“And you Mr Kennedy?” Hornblower lifted his hand to Archie’s face, a brief fleeting touch that burned on his cheek. “I hope that unfortunate stumble hasn’t left an inedible mark?”

Archie tightened his grip on the rail, convinced it was the only thing keeping him upright.

“I think it’s fair to say it made quite an impression Mr Hornblower.”

* * *

  
 **~II~**

The identity of Kennedy’s mysterious assailant was soon forgotten as word spread that Captain Pellew had received orders from the Admiralty. The _Indefatigable_ was to put to sea as soon as preparations were complete and speculation was rife as to their station. One day scuttlebutt had it that they were to join the North Sea Fleet, a reasonable posting with some opportunity for prizes but little chance of action. The following day it was to be the Mediterranean, spirits rose noticeably, only to plummet the following day when the treacherous foggy banks of Newfoundland appeared to be their lot.

The station the entire company desired more than any other was appointment to a cruising squadron. This would put the _Indefatigable_ directly under Admiralty orders, detached from the fleet and outwith the reach of a Commander in Chief, giving them free reign to harass enemy vessels and pursue any prizes that came within range. The frigate’s young gentlemen spoke of nothing else, boasting with youthful bravado of the prizes they would take, the frogs they would kill and the fortunes they would win.

Boarding actions and the preferred method of despatching Johnny Crappeau were favourite topics of conversation and Archie entered the gunroom one dog watch to find Hether holding forth on the use of small arms and steel. Hornblower was seated at the far end of the long table surrounded by his habitual pile of books.

“No point in trying to fence with a cutlass gentlemen. Forget all that fancy footwork your fencing master taught you.”

Cadogan swore under his breath. “What you mean all those tedious fencing lessons I endured were a waste of bloody time?”

“That’s the price you pay for the blue blood that runs in those pretty veins Georgey. Heavy blade like a cutlass, not an inch of space about you, most likely you won’t be able to see anything either, all you can do is swing at anything that moves.”

“Care to demonstrate Mr Hether?” Kennedy was standing behind Hether with a belaying pin in one hand.

“Give it a rest Kennedy,” Hether was not inclined to endanger his standing as senior officer of the mess by putting his money where his mouth was.

“But I’m afraid I have to disagree with you Mr Hether. If you know how to handle a blade there’s more chance you’ll keep your feet _and_ your head.” Kennedy offered his messmate the belaying pin with all the ceremony of an Admiral presenting a Patriotic Fund commemorative sword. Hornblower looked up from his books and shook his head ruefully.

There was no denying the challenge, Hether took the weapon and lunged at Kennedy who neatly sidestepped him, seized a second belaying pin and deftly parried another blow. The other boys scattered out of the way as the two combatants skittered around the gunroom upsetting benches and tables in their wake. Hether lunged wildly at Kennedy who danced just out of reach of every blow while landing a good few of his own, at the same time keeping up a continual running commentary that goaded his opponent into increasing fury. Kennedy easily had the better of it when over confidence and an unnecessarily flamboyant backstep caused him to stumble against an upturned bench sending him sprawling backwards over the gunroom table, the belaying pin flying from his hand. Hether was on him in and instant, “So much for your dainty footwork now Kennedy!” But just as he lifted the surrogate sword to Kennedy’s throat he let out a loud yelp of surprise and indignation as something jabbed hard into his side.

“Bastard! What the bloody hell was that?”

Kennedy held up a smaller belaying pin he had produced from who knows where. “That Mr Hether was a knife, and you should never join a boarding party with out one because, as you can see, _my_ knife is now stuck in _your_ ribs and _you_ are an ex frog!”

“Dammit that’s cheating!” Heather spluttered indignantly, releasing his hold on the younger boy.

“Cheating my arse Mr Hether, that’s how to survive.” Kennedy picked himself up from the table to a round cheers and whistles from the other midshipmen and made a great show of dusting off his jacket

“Trust you to fight dirty Kennedy.” Hether sniped as he returned to his seat.

“Only way to fight Mr Hether. Now if you’ll excuse me gentlemen, watch calls.”

* * *

  
 **~III~**

Archie was in the waist when Hornblower joined him on deck half way through first watch. Night was falling and he could see the lights of Portsmouth glittering on the black waters of the anchorage.

“That was quite a performance Mr Kennedy.”

“Indeed Mr Hornblower, mama always said I should be on the stage. Sadly father disagreed, he thought the navy more suited to my...talents.”

Archie grinned, despite the bitter chill of the evening he was still in high spirits. Less so Hornblower, the episode in the gunroom had shaken him and the sight of his companion laid flat across the table with a supposed sword to his throat had damn near unmanned him.

“Aren’t you afraid Archie?”

Archie caught the hesitation in his voice and turned his bright gaze on Hornblower.

“Afraid? Of course I’m afraid Horatio. I’d be a damn fool not to be. We’re all afraid.”

“But you and Hether, Cleveland, the other mids, all you talk about is the war and fighting and....”

“Oh Horatio don’t you recognise fear when you see it? If those boys stopped boasting for a second they might have to stop and think about the reality of this blessed war, and then where would we be? Hmn?”

Hornblower gazed dolefully across the anchorage. He didn’t appear to be convinced.

“Are you really afraid Archie? You seem so...full of fight.”

“Me?” Archie snorted incredulously, “I can assure you Mr Hornblower I am as afraid as the next man. A great deal more so I should think. But then I always have been a coward. I thought everyone knew that.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many of the details here are taken from the information [](http://nodbear.livejournal.com/profile)[**nodbear**](http://nodbear.livejournal.com/) and I have turned up about Sir Edward Pellew and the historical crew of the _Indefatigable_. Other details are taken from elsewhere.

_**Kiss of Life (2/2)**_  
 **Title:** Kiss of Life (2/2)  
 **Author:** Anteros  
 **Characters:** Horatio Hornblower / Archie Kennedy, Captain Pellew  
 **Rating:** PG  
 **Words:** 2223  
 **Notes:** Many of the details here are taken from the information [](http://nodbear.livejournal.com/profile)[**nodbear**](http://nodbear.livejournal.com/) and I have turned up about Sir Edward Pellew and the historical crew of the _Indefatigable_. Other details are taken from elsewhere.

* * *

  
 **~IV~**

The frigate’s young gentlemen were assembled in the gunroom in a state of high expectation. They had been informed that they would make way the following day but their station was still unknown.

Kennedy had been despatched to the quarterdeck to wheedle whatever information he could from Lieutenant Bracegirdle. He returned looking dejected and slumped into a seat at the end of the table.

“No luck Kennedy?” Cleveland enquired.

“No luck gentlemen, no luck at all.” Archie paused for effect. “I’m afraid it’s the Channel Fleet for us.”

“Yes!” Cleveland punched the air in triumph.

“Inshore squadron.”

“Fuck.” Cleveland slammed his fist down on the table making Hornblower jump. He was completely bewildered that the longed for station had been greeted with such short lived jubilation.

“What does that mean?” Hornblower asked cautiously.

“Blockade duty.” Heather sighed.

Hornblower looked to Kennedy expecting him to contradict Hether, something he could reliably be expected to do.

“I’m afraid so Mr Hornblower, inshore squadron does indeed mean blockade duty. Close blockade of Brest Roads to be precise. Their Lords High Commissioners of the Admiralty, in their infinite wisdom, have seen fit to command this fine frigate to sit out the war counting bloody fishing boats.”

* * *

  
 **~V~**

Blockade duty did indeed prove to be every bit as tedious as Kennedy had predicted and considerably colder too. After two months of counting the same masts of the same forty three ships anchored in Brest Roads day in day out even the most patient of the midshipmen were at the end of their tethers. Captain Pellew exercised the men with regular gunnery and sail drill to prevent idleness and boredom turning to frustration and discontent. Much to Archie’s delight the captain also permitted frequent entertainments and theatricals to be organised to alleviate the tedium, but even the novelty of these events paled eventually. Rumour had it that the captain himself was showing signs of frustration with the endless weeks of inactivity, though he continued to share the freezing tedium with his midshipmen by joining their watch at the masthead on an almost daily basis.

To add to their woes the fleet's victualing ships were frequently delayed by the endless Channel gales and when they did eventually reach the inshore squadron they invariably lacked the supplies the ships required. After the second victualing convoy in a row had failed to deliver sufficient fresh victuals Hornblower was horrified to see the spectre of scurvy stalking the lower decks. In his naiveté he had believed the disease to be the curse of year long voyages to far flung foreign stations. Never in his worst nightmares had he expected to see men spitting their teeth out on the deck so close to England and within sight of land. Lack of fresh water only exacerbated their miseries. The fleet's water lighters were a remarkable innovation but one that still required perfecting. Their tanks leaked, the water spoiled and by the time the main Channel fleet’s ships of the line had been supplied there was barely enough to fill the butts and casks of the inshore frigates. When appeals to the Commander in Chief and the Victualing Board fell on deaf ears Captain Pellew took his complaint directly to the Admiralty, despatching terse missives demanding fresh provisions, lemon juice, sugar and water.

When his pleas to the Admiralty fell on deaf ears, Pellew did what he could to procure, from his own pocket it was said, additional provisions from the numerous fishing boats and chasse-marées that plied the Breton coast. The supply of drinking water he also took into his own hands. Almost every bay and cove around the rocky coast had a small fresh water stream running into it and there were enough secluded spots where the frigate could put her boats ashore to refill the ship’s water casks. Replenishing the frigate's water supply became the charge of the midshipmen who looked forward to leading the shore parties as a welcome break from the dreary routine of blockade duty.

* * *

  
 **~VI~**

The cove was situated on a remote western peninsula of Camaret Bay; a small beach bounded north and south by rocky cliffs, to the east beyond the dunes the land rose more gently. A narrow stream cut a channel through the tussocky grass of the dunes before dissipating into a fan of silver rivulets on the white sand.

The bay shelved sharply allowing the frigate to stand close in to put her boats ashore. Mr Kennedy took the jolly boat with a party of seamen to fill the water casks, while Mr Hornblower and Corporal Robinson led a detachment of Marines in the gig to investigate the remains of an old signal tower on the cliff top north of the bay where signs of activity had been observed of late.

Kennedy had been somewhat disgruntled that his junior messmate had been ordered to undertake the potentially hazardous reconnaissance duty, but there was no rancour only concern.

“Watch your step there Hornblower!” Kennedy called after the lanky figure leading the Marines up the precipitous sheep track that wound up from the beach to the cliff top. Hornblower raised a hand in acknowledgement and continued to climb. The _Indefatigable_ stood off shore, close hauled in the light southerly breeze.

By late afternoon most of the water casks had been filled and loaded onto the boat. The wind had backed to the west and risen considerably, forcing the frigate to stand further out to sea, off the lee shore. Kennedy was overseeing the loading of the final casks, standing waist deep in the surf holding the stern to steady the boat as it bucked and tossed in the breakers. The seamen were dawdling down the beach grumbling about the long heavy pull back to the ship against a head wind and a rising sea.

Kennedy saw the splash just short of the bow moments before he heard the shot. The Marines came scattering down the narrow track, Hornblower slipping and stumbling after them, yelling as he ran.

“Into the boat Mr Kennedy! They've mounted a gun up there. Cast off!”

A second and third shot fell, closer this time. Hornblower and the marines had gained the beach and were scrambling into the gig. From far out to sea a distant retort sounded as the frigate answered the battery's fire. Two ratings were struggling with the oars of the laden jolly boat as Kennedy, almost swamped by the waves held firm to the gunwale. “Come on! Run! Leave the cask!” he shouted to the ratings racing down the beach.

The shot hit the jolly boat square astern just as a huge wave crashed over her. Boat and casks splintered into staves. Kennedy just had time to utter a ferocious oath as the impact threw him off his feet and tumbled him into the surf. He came up spluttering and saw Hornblower hauling the seamen men into the gig. Just as he struck out for the remaining boat a second breaker crashed over him and something hit against the back of his head. The waves closed over him and with odd detached surprise he felt the sand go from beneath his feet as the undertow pulled him out over the shelf of the beach. He could feel himself sinking, the beach shelving steeply away beneath him; but he could still see the sunlight filtering down through the waves, silver blue and beautiful. “I must be drowning.” The thought flitted through his mind but was of little concern. Everything was quiet and blue and peaceful. He wondered vaguely if Captain Pellew would be angry at Horatio for loosing the boat. He hoped not. There was no fear, no panic, just a strange drowsy contentment. The dancing silver blue light receded and dimmed.

Fear and pain returned in a hellish rush of noise and confusion. Rough hands were tearing him from the peaceful oblivion of the sea’s blue embrace, hauling him over the gunwale and throwing him into the boat. For a moment all he was aware of was the cold and the din. The wind howling, voices yelling and an almighty deafening crash as the _Indefatigable_ , having tacked impossibly close in to the treacherous lee shore, discharged her full broadside, obliterating the cliff top battery.

* * *

  
 **~VII~**

Kennedy opened his eyes and found himself looking straight up at a slate grey sky. All he was aware of was the fierce burning pain in his nose and throat and the crushing weight in his chest smothering his breath. He opened his mouth in a desperate attempt to breathe but the stubborn weight didn’t budge. He could feel the panic starting to rise.

A figure loomed over him, gazing down with narrowed eyes and furrowed brow. The captain. Why was he looking down at him like that? The weight on his chest was growing heavier, the burning in his throat unendurable. He opened his mouth a second time frantically gasping for air.

A second face swam into view, much closer, bending right over him, huge dark eyes and a curtain of wet curls dripping low over his face. Horatio. He tried to speak his name but the words complied no more than the air. The panic was a living thing now, beating madly against the weight in his chest. Dark spots edged with luminescence were floating before his eyes. He opened his mouth a third time and that was when Horatio kissed him. A long hard crushing kiss that breathed air into his lungs, lifting the weight and driving back the panic. Horatio pulled away, then something hit him hard below the chest and he vomited onto the deck. The floating spots started to merge and join, coalescing into darkness. The last thing he saw before the blackness closed around him was the face of Captain Pellew staring down at him in open mouthed astonishment.

* * *

  
 **~VIII~**

“Christ my head hurts.”

Kennedy was sitting on a cot in the cockpit, a blanket round his shoulders, clutching a mug of the captain’s best brandy. Dr Hepplewhite had left to report to Captain Pellew, instructing his charge to remain in the sick bay for the remainder of the night. Kennedy was still shivering slightly but appeared to be in good spirits. Hornblower was seated opposite looking considerably the worse for wear. He was deathly pale, had a livid welt on his forehead and his right hand was swathed in bandages.

“What the hell happened?” Kennedy was gingerly fingering the back of his head.

“It all happened so fast Archie, one minute you were there holding the boat steady and the next you were gone…” Hornblower was gazing at the deck blinking furiously, “…boat and all. I think some of the debris from the boat must have hit you. You went down, it seemed like an age.” He looked up and swallowed. “You came up floating, face down, I thought…I just had to get you back into the boat…”

Archie leaned forward the pressed the brandy into Horatio’s hands.

“Really? I don’t recall. All I remember is being under the water and my feet going from beneath me. I could see the light through the water. It was strange, I didn’t feel afraid…..”

Horatio sniffed loudly, his hands were shaking visibly and several drops of brandy sloshed onto the deck.

“I’m sorry Horatio, are you all right? You look like you’ve been in the wars. What happened to your hand?”

“What this?” Horatio glanced down at his bandaged hand as if noticing it for the first time. “It’s nothing, just a splinter, it’s fine.”

“And this?” Archie ran his fingers very gently over the angry cut on Horatio’s forehead and was surprised to receive a wan smile.

“Oh. That was you.”

“Me?”

“When I hauled you into the boat your boot caught me in the head. You’re no minnow you know.” Horatio was smiling more broadly, some of the colour had returned to his cheeks and his eyes were brighter.

“Is that so Mr Hornblower? Well if you ask me you deserved it. You did try to kiss me after all.” Archie’s smirk rather spoilt his air of affronted indignation.

“My profuse apologies Mr Kennedy but I’ll have you know I was delivering the kiss of life.”

“The _what_? Really Horatio, are you sure you didn’t receive a knock to the head too?”

“Indeed not! Resuscitation by mouth. My father learned the technique from an eminent Scottish physician at the Royal Humane Society, a doctor Hunter, I believe.”

“A likely story!” Archie snorted. Relief at their narrow escape was making him bold and the captain’s brandy had loosed his tongue. “You know if you really want to kiss me, you only have to ask. Although next time, I beg you, not in front of the captain.”

Shaken as he was Horatio was not to be out done. “Well Mr Kennedy, if that is all the thanks I receive you should be grateful my father did not propose the colonial method of resuscitation.”

“And whatever might that be Mr Hornblower?”

“Tobacco smoke,” replied Horatio primly. “Administered to the patient's arse.”

“Jesus!” spluttered Archie, expelling a quantity of brandy through his nose, his eyes streaming. “I can think of a better use for tobacco than that!”

“Indeed Mr Kennedy. And I can think of a better use for your…”

* * *

  
  
**~Notes~**   


Osler, E., (1854), _The Life of Admiral VIscount Exmouth_ , Geo. Routledge and Co, London

> Knowing how much depended on his vigilance, Sir Edward had watched Brest with the most anxious attention. The wind blew generally from the eastward, at times so strong, that the line-of-battle-ships would be under a close-reefed maintop-sail and reefed foresail; and the weather was intensely cold: yet he went every morning to the mast-head, where he would remain making his observations for a considerable part of the day, one of the older midshipmen being usually with him. “Well I remember,” writes one of his officers, “that on being one day relieved to go down to my dinner, I was obliged to have some of the main-top-men to help me down the rigging, I was so benumbed with the intense cold: yet the captain was there six or seven hours at a time, without complaining, or taking any refreshment.”

  
Trubuhovich, R.V., (2006) , "History of mouth-to-mouth rescue breathing. Part 2: the 18th century.", Department of Critical Care Medicine, Auckland City Hospital, Auckland, New Zealand. <http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmed/16749887>

> The first humane society was founded in Amsterdam in 1767 and initially promoted expired air ventilation (EAV) by the mouth-to-mouth method. Other humane societies were soon established throughout Europe, especially in maritime cities with frequent drownings. The founding of London's humane society in 1774, initially known as "The Institute," was followed by earnest efforts to promote mouth-to-mouth EAV in England, and soon after in Scotland, but not until the 1780s in North America. Disenchantment with the mouth-to-mouth method as less desirable (for various reasons) led to decline in its general use. In 1782, what later became The Royal Humane Society in London changed its expressed preference for artificial ventilation by mouth-to-mouth to manual artificial ventilation using inflating bellows, although mouth-to-mouth was a method of resuscitation which could be attempted by any rescuer. The need to apply artificial ventilation immediately was not really recognised before John Hunter's recommendation to London's Humane Society in 1776. 

  
History of CPR, UKDivers.net, <http://www.ukdivers.net/history/cpr.htm>

> In the 1700's a new method of resuscitation was used. This "new" procedure involved blowing tobacco smoke into the victim's rectum. According to the literature, smoke was first blown into an animal bladder, then into the victim's rectum. It was used successfully by North American Indians and American colonists an introduced in England in 1767. This practice was abandoned in 1811 after research by Benjamin Brodie when he demonstrated that four ounces of tobacco would kill a dog and one ounce would kill a cat.

  
Sorry, was that TMI? ;)

  
  



End file.
